


In With the New

by ginchy



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fake Dating, Fluff, Fun, Holidays, Modern AU, New Year’s Eve, Turnadette - Freeform, fake date, medical dorks in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginchy/pseuds/ginchy
Summary: Patrick needs a date to the New Year’s Dinner Dance.  Shelagh agrees to go as friends, pretending to be something more.Basically, ginchy tries her hand at fake dating.(Only the last chapter will be rated M)
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner, Lucille Anderson/Valerie Dyer
Comments: 99
Kudos: 69





	1. Patrick Needs a Date

**Author's Note:**

> I love holiday fic. After the year we’ve all had, we deserve holiday fic filled with fluff, fun, (and eventually smut). There have been several fake dating fics in fandom, and they were so fun, and inspired me to try my hand at it!! Also, way back when I was a wee ginchy (near on 22 years ago), there would be such amazing fics in my first fandom — the X-Files. These fics were known as ‘FBI Ball’ fics, in which Mulder and Scully would dress up, attend a dance, and realize their love. Those fics were filled with rolled up shirt sleeves, British Sterling, Scully in a red dress, and coworkers who were in awe. I have taken some inspiration from them for this one. This seems to be a mashup of FBI ball fics and every fake dating, romantic comedy sort of cliche, all with a ginchy brand of Medical Dorks in Love holding it together. 
> 
> This is set in a nebulous time when there are smart phones, but there is no Covid, and all the characters look just exactly like they do in their best possible incarnations on the show or in real life. Can you see it with me??
> 
> THANK YOU THANK YOU to the wonderful Fourteen Teacups, who loves this story more than maybe anything I’ve ever written, and to the terrific WednesdayGilfillian, who said this fic should be my priority! You gals are the best!!! 🥰🥰🥰
> 
> That’s a lot of words and I have to finish writing the last two chapters of this fic!!
> 
> Rated T overall, but the bonus chapter will definitely be M. (Which is kinda spoilery.... ahahahaha!) I hope you all enjoy!! And here’s to a better 2021!!!! 💕💕

The floor was quiet in the late evening. Patrick retired to his office after evening rounds, loosening his tie as he leaned back in his chair. Half-formed thoughts of working through the emails in his inbox were unsatisfactory. His half-written paper on his team’s recent management of a triplet pregnancy also did little to draw his mind. No pressing deadlines were bearing down on him in the last days of December. The week was always a time apart from the rest of the year, and he was unused to feeling so unencumbered. Timothy was away for a fortnight with Marianne, deriving much joy from reminding his father that he would see him “next year”. 

And so Patrick sat in the silence of his office, pulling free his tie and rubbing a hand over his cheeks and eyes. His stomach rumbled. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was too late to get much at the canteen other than day old sandwiches. Opening a desk drawer, he rifled around, looking for an Aero bar that had been in there for a few weeks. He dislodged a piece of card stock and stopped, pulling it from the drawer instead. “Oh,” he said, frowning at the paper. “What is this again?” 

The New Year’s Dinner Dance. Only a few days away, at the weekend. Squinting his eyes, he remembered Mokachi taking the piss out of him as they’d scrubbed up some weeks before. Several junior doctors were comparing notes on dates, and Patrick admonished them to think of the work ahead. “Don’t suppose we’d see an old gaffer like you at the dance,” he laughed, slapping Patrick on the back. A jokester, Mokachi wasn’t far wrong. Patrick hadn’t attended the dinner dance since Marianne had left, and even those few he and Marianne had attended together hadn’t been their favorite of activities. “A formal? With those tossers?” Marianne was never one to mince words. Several of the men she had mocked as jerks were now retired, and Marianne herself had moved on, though the divorce had been amicable all around.

Still, Mokachi’s comment bothered him. The younger doctor wasn’t exactly a tosser, though he was still rather keen to prove himself. And he wasn’t the only one. So many of the younger men on the patient floor were competitive and full of conceit. Patrick felt ancient next to them. He hadn’t given much thought to his own reputation, knowing himself to be capable and intelligent. Yet it seemed that what he felt to be traits of scholarship and competence made him seem dull, and boring. A stir of ego gave him pause. Could he find a date, proving that he was more than a bore, a codger? As quickly as the thought flashed through his mind, he dismissed it, content in marking another New Year on his own. He started to ball up the invitation to toss into the bin, when a rustle of papers outside of his office door caught his attention. “Oh!” He heard a frustrated voice echo in the corridor. “Will you—”

The voice was that of Nurse Mannion. Smiling, he stepped to and opened the door, holding up a hand as she startled. “I’m sorry,” he said, seeking to ease her discomfort. “I heard you from my desk… oh, did you take a copy of the paper?” He left duplicates of his recent publications at his office door, gladly accepting conversation and differing opinions from his colleagues. Seeing Nurse Mannion holding one of his manuscripts made him feel oddly proud, and somewhat nervous. Shifting on his feet, he lowered his hand.

“Doctor Turner.” Nurse Mannion smiled, ducking her head slightly before meeting his gaze. “I did take a copy! I meant to take one earlier in my shift but was caught up… your last work—the one on management of hyperemesis gravidarum—was…” she took in a deep breath before exhaling into a small smile, “...really quite tremendous.” Her laugh seemed anxious as she gestured with the paper. “I’m afraid I bothered you, however. It was stuck with the others and I had to give it a wee tug…”

“No bother,” he said quickly, poking at the letterbox on his door to hide the rise of color in his cheeks at her compliment. “The papers sometimes become jumbled. And thank you. We seldom see hyperemesis cases so severe. Never hurts to add to the literature.” In nervous habit, he tapped the invitation against the box.

“Quite,” Nurse Mannion said, looking down the empty hall before gesturing to his hand. “Is that the invitation to the dinner dance?”

He looked at the piece of card stock, surprised to find it still in his hand. “Oh, it is! I was going to — well, you know how these things are,” he said, playfully rolling his eyes. “The same thing each year, cash bar, slightly warm cheese tray, grand speeches from doctors never seen in actual patient care…”

Nurse Mannion giggled, before clearing her throat. “Ah, no, I can’t say that I do know. I’ve never attended.”

Her giggle enchanted him but he pushed the thought away, as he so often pushed away any thoughts unrelated to the professional that he might have about Nurse Mannion. “I’m afraid I haven’t sold it very well, then! I haven’t been in years, though this year…” he trailed off. “I won’t bore you with this, Nurse.”

“No, please, go on, Doctor.” As she spoke, she tucked his paper into her handbag.

Something about the quiet of the evening had him speaking before he could stop himself. “I haven’t attended in years. I was going to toss this out, but, well, I suppose a few of the younger doctors have called me ‘old man’ one time too many and I had a stray thought of attending just to…” he didn’t finish his thought. “It’s quite ridiculous.”

To her credit, Nurse Mannion kept her face schooled. “Perhaps a wee bit ridiculous,” she allowed, before smiling gently. She glanced once more down the hall. “I’ll admit that I get similar ribbing from my fellow midwives. They mean well, and are very kind, yet—now I’m the one concerned about boring you!” 

“Never,” Patrick said immediately, before rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. “Do you happen to enjoy warm cheese and boring speeches?”

“Doctor?”

“Ah,” Patrick was all at sea, having spoken all too quickly. “Forgive me, Nurse. I was only thinking that since you’ve never been, and I haven’t been in years, and we both seem to want to prove something…”. There were a million reasons that he should stop talking. This could complicate their working relationship. It could complicate any friendship they might have. And with the way he already felt about her, it would be almost cruel to himself to even suggest what he was suggesting. And yet, he continued, “We could go together, as friends,” he hastened to add, “maybe let them think it’s a little something more. Just for the evening, you see.” Her face was inscrutable. He pinched his thumb and forefinger together, suddenly embarrassed. Opening his mouth to speak, to try and fix the damage he had just caused, he was stopped by her smile.

“I think that would be lovely.”

He blinked. “Oh, uh. Yes. Lovely. So do I, I mean.” He felt surreal. “Perhaps we should exchange numbers. We could text about it?”

“We could.” She took out her phone.

With her number safely stored, he wasn’t sure what to do next. Had they really decided to go to the dinner dance together? As friends, but pretending to be more? A thought occurred to him. “I’ve always called you ‘Nurse Mannion’.”

“Oh,” she said, seeming to understand what he was saying. “Please, call me Shelagh.”

He smiled. “Patrick.”

“Patrick,” she repeated. “I should… my shift was over some time ago,” she said, hitching her handbag up on her shoulder. “I’ll text you.”

The way she said his name made his heart thump in his chest. “I’ll look forward to it,” he said, before adding, “but if you change your mind—”

“I won’t,” she said, taking a step back. “Goodnight.”

He watched as she walked away before stepping back into his office. As if in a dream, he sat in his chair and looked once more at the invitation. “Patrick, old man,” he said, tapping the invitation against his hand, “what was _that_?”


	2. Shelagh Needs a Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dress shopping with Shelagh and Gloria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to get this posted before we see Gloria on Christmas!! 💚❤️ (To be even more self-indulgent, I decided that Gloria is a medical librarian... 😆)

“And you really want to go?”

Shelagh turned toward Gloria’s voice as it drifted through the fitting room door. It was the third time Gloria had asked, and though it flustered her, Shelagh couldn’t really blame her friend. 

It had all been so sudden. 

One moment she had been surreptitiously attempting to remove Dr. Turner’s latest journal article from his letterbox, and the next she was his date for the New Year’s Dinner Dance. She had left the hospital in a fog of surreality, unsure if her fertile mind had created the scenario or if the doctor had really asked her to the dance. Upon the arrival of the dinner dance invitations, Shelagh had suffered through the teasing comments of her fellow nurse-midwives, inquiring as to a date they knew she did not have. And now she had a date of a sort, and with Dr. Turner. She was somewhat breathless and still in shock. 

“Yes, Gloria,” she answered through the door, hanging back on the rack a green dress that definitely was not suitable for a public outing. “I do want to go. Though I do not wish to do so in a manner baring…” she dropped her voice. “ _ Everything _ .”

“Are we talking about your shoulders or your heart?” 

Pressing her lips together, Shelagh looked at herself in the mirror. She felt that if she looked closely enough that she might see her heart pounding in her chest. Yet she drew herself up to her full height and took another dress from the frame. “I was speaking of my navel,” she said, unzipping the light blue dress. “The dress you chose seemed certain to reveal it to the world.”

Gloria laughed. “It’s good to wind you up. It’s been a while.” She paused for a moment. “I’ll have you know I looked into him a bit. His first publication was  _ twenty-three _ years ago.”

“Oh!” Shelagh opened the door to peek through. “You ran his publication history?” At Gloria’s smirk, Shelagh sighed. “Librarians.” Shelagh spent much of her down time in the hospital’s library, researching and writing. Gloria was at first a helpful acquaintance, but a friendship soon grew, deepening as Shelagh nursed Gloria through a complicated pregnancy and the birth of her son. “I happened to run his name through MEDLINE myself,” she admitted. “It’s an impressive list.” Closing the door again, Shelagh tilted her head to regard the dress in the glass. 

“Let’s see the blue one,” Gloria said, tapping on the door. “And is his publication list the only thing you find impressive about him?”

Shelagh’s cheeks warmed. “Gloria!” Losing herself in thought, she remembered how he looked standing outside of his office door. He was so intelligent and such a good doctor, and those were the qualities that first drew her attention. But she could admit, if only to herself, that his dark hair, bright eyes, and smile were really quite attractive. He’d removed his tie before talking with her in the corridor outside of his office. Her cheeks pinked further to remember the sliver of neck visible at his collar. “It’s not really a date,” she sputtered, regaining her composure. She opened the door.

Gloria raised her eyebrows as if disbelieving. “Yes, I remember something about going as ‘friends pretending to be something more’...”

A sales lady bustled into the seating area. Shelagh widened her eyes at Gloria, who took the hint and changed the subject, asking her opinion on the dress. “I’m not certain this is quite right,” Shelagh said, gesturing to the sweetheart neckline. “It’s a wee bit… sheer,” she said, tugging at the bodice.

The sales lady’s eyes lit up. “I have a similar dress, but even prettier, wait just here—”

“This one isn’t right for a New Year’s do,” Gloria agreed, pulling at the hem of the dress to look at the fabric. “New Year’s is flashier, bolder.”

“I can be bold,” Shelagh said, trailing off as the sales lady returned. The dress was of a silvery grey, simple almost upon first glance. It nipped in at the waist with a thin sash, cocktail length with wide shoulder straps. Yet it was the silver lace embroidery that was the highlight of the dress, intricate designs running from bodice to skirt. The wide straps allowed for an open neckline, if not quite to the navel, then not far from it. “Sometimes,” Shelagh murmured, finishing her thought, before reaching out a light finger to touch the fabric. 

“Oh, this is it,” Gloria said, a huge smile on her face. “Gorgeous.”

“I don’t know about…” In a panic, Shelagh gestured to the generous dip at the neck. 

“Oh, don’t worry over that, dear,” the clerk said, indicating the v-neck. “If you find it to be too plunging, we have a lace insert that fits just here.”

“I will be purchasing the insert,” Shelagh said, taking the dress. 

“Well, why don’t you pop and try it first? I’ll go and locate the inlay!”

“Go on, then,” Gloria encouraged.

Inside the dressing room, Shelagh put on the dress, taking in a deep breath as she looked at herself in the mirror. Unbidden, her hand raised to her waist, barely touching the lovely fabric. “Oh,” she whispered, before tracing the line of lace at her chest. The dinner dance was suddenly a reality. Dr. Turner — Patrick — would see her in this dress. He would touch the fabric as they danced together, and she found herself wondering if he would find it alluring. Tamping down the heat that was trying to return to her cheeks, she opened the door.

“Aren’t you a sort?” Gloria’s grin of approval turned wicked after a moment. “I’ve a feeling this won’t be a fake date for very long.”

“Gloria!” Shelagh fluttered her hand as if to push away that thought, still fretting over the expanse of exposed skin. “Our colleagues will be in attendance. I’ll need the extra lace.”

“Try it with the lace, then. But it’s already perfect. That doctor’ll be knocked for six.”

“We’re only friends,” Shelagh demurred, but looked at herself in the large dressing room mirror, imagining once again dancing in Patrick’s arms.

“Do ‘only friends’ kiss at midnight, then?”

Shelagh turned to Gloria. “Oh!” She exhaled a shaky breath. “Oh,” she repeated.

“ ‘Oh’ is right.” Gloria appeared to be trying to hide a smile. “Didn’t discuss the snog in your terms of the date?”

“I’m certain we’ll think of something,” Shelagh managed to say with some difficulty. The sales lady returned with the bit of lace. Shelagh took it to escape into the dressing room, away from Gloria’s knowing grin.

The insert fit perfectly, as though it was always part of the neckline. A thought flashed through her mind that Patrick might like the dress better without the inset, but she pushed it away as quickly as it formed. Her thoughts jumbled. The dress, the ‘date’... Shelagh looked once more into the mirror. “A New Year’s kiss,” she murmured.

“How’s that?”

Hastily turning toward the door, Shelagh raised her voice. “I said ‘This is the dress’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Teacups—your enthusiasm and our giggles keep me going!!! 💕💕💕💕


	3. Patrick Needs an Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick goes round to Shelagh’s flat to pick her up for their date...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Teacups for the squees, the conversation, the beta, and catching all my double words!!!! 💕💕💕💕

The bouquet of pink roses was heavy in hand as Patrick rang at the door of Shelagh’s building. Evening was just falling over London, and behind him were the sounds of a joyful holiday, laughter, party horns, and music spilling out into the winter night. The delicate scent of the flowers was misplaced in the cold air, but he inhaled deeply, enjoying their light fragrance. He’d overthought the flowers, going so far as to research the symbolism behind certain blooms. Settling on pink roses had taken the better part of an hour, but being meant to express admiration seemed safe enough for a date that was of the unconventional variety. More than that, he wanted Shelagh to like the flowers, to have something of value after their evening. 

After a moment her voice came through the intercom, greeting him and allowing him entrance. She sounded completely normal, friendly and upbeat. Her accent had always been pleasing to him, but to hear a lack of nervousness in her speech made him wonder if he was the only one with an anxious stomach. He entered the building and made his way to her door, knocking twice before he could overthink anything further. 

As a physician, he knew of several reasons for a heart to skip a beat. Heart disease, anemia, overactive thyroid, stress, among many. Yet he’d also heard waxing poetic mentions of love or longing causing such skips. In his many years, that feeling had never beset Patrick Turner. 

Until now. The door opened and he started to speak, to offer the roses and make a self-deprecating remark, but he was unable to do any of those things. His heart skipped and suddenly he was unable to breathe. He didn’t know what he expected Shelagh to wear. She was lovely in her scrubs. She could even be described as ‘cute’ in some of the oversized tee-shirts and glasses that he’d noticed her wearing during her off hours. In the lead-up to the date he had given thought to what she might wear, but expected something understated and pretty, perhaps in a shade of light blue.

The dress she wore  _ was _ pretty. And, perhaps at first glance, understated. The silver was lovely against her skin, and her skin, well, he struggled to keep his eyes from the plunge at the neckline. He’d been adamant with himself that he would not let his feelings interfere with the date. They would have fun and a bit of a laugh, that was all. But confronted with her, looking like this, he could only hold the flowers out and stammer, “Shelagh. You’re quite lovely tonight.”

Her cheeks pinked, making her even prettier. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the bouquet. “I’ve always preferred pink roses to red. This is very kind.”

An awkward pause grew between them as Shelagh delicately touched one rose petal. For his part, he couldn’t stop looking at her, at her lovely loose hair and  _ that dress _ . His heart still hadn’t recovered, beating a wild tattoo in his chest. 

After another beat, Shelagh looked up and said, “Oh! Please come inside!” She stepped back from the door and he entered, feeling again surreal as he saw her home for the first time. It was the same feeling of surreality he’d felt when she had texted him the afternoon after they agreed upon their date. Seeing her name pop up on his phone screen had his stomach in a clench. Her texts were clear and concise, reaffirming their date and offering her address. And yet he still read the messages time and again, still unbelieving that she had agreed to be his date, especially under such ridiculous circumstances. 

“Would you like tea? I should place these into water,” she said, indicating the flowers. 

“Oh, no thank you,” he answered, stepping toward the kitchen serving hatch as she bustled around the wall. He glanced about the room, noticing the calming colors and feminine touches scattered throughout. The home felt like Shelagh, cozy and clean. Several boxes were neatly stacked on the dining table and he recognized the logo for their mobile clinic. He smiled and turned back to the hatch, catching Shelagh’s gaze as it seemed fixed upon him. She blushed and ducked her head, as if caught, and he startled, ridiculous notions of mutual attraction darting through his mind. In effort to find his footing once more, he gestured toward the boxes. “Our mobile clinics provide sterling services,” he said, tapping one carton with his hand. “Do you often participate?”

“I do!” She finished running the water and closed the tap. “I try to offer my assistance at least once a quarter, if not more. I enjoy meeting potential patients and offering on-the-spot services.” She left the kitchen and placed the vase of roses on a table near the window. “These are a lovely addition to the room. Thank you, Patrick.” 

The way she said his name made him want to hear her say it again and again. “You’re welcome,” he answered, the hour of researching flowers a fleeting memory as her pleased smile gave him a warm feeling of success.  Following her lead, he took a seat on the settee. “I almost didn’t make it tonight,” he said, filling in the silence before it could settle. He grinned to show that he was teasing. “Kenley asked me to cover for him - he said he knew that he could count on me to be available.”

Shelagh seemed to be hiding her own grin. The entire hospital knew of Kenley’s reputation as a pompous arse. “It seems there’s quite a bit of interest in your dating life.” Her eyes sparkled behind her lenses.

“Or lack thereof,” he rejoined, and they laughed together. 

“I’m no better,” Shelagh confessed, fluttering her fingers as if to set him at ease. “I’ll admit to looking forward to having a wee bit of fun at the expense of a few of my fellow midwives.” She leaned forward, as if sharing a confidence. 

Patrick gulped, keeping his eyes steady in fear of outright gaping at her tantalizing dress. The scent of the roses and a sweet perfume surrounded her skin, and he was helpless against smiling at her again. “Ah, yes,” he answered, after a pause. “This should get the department off my back for at least a year, if not more!” Rubbing his thumb against his forefinger, he met her eyes. “Talking of which… I’d just like to thank you for agreeing to this. I know this is, well, quite an unusual arrangement, but I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Her eyes fluttered downward before meeting his gaze. “I have, too. My last several New Year's Eve's have been spent delivering babies!”

He chuckled. “I’ve never managed to deliver one right as the clock goes midnight.” As he said the words, a thought pushed at the forefront of his mind. Midnight. New Year’s Eve. He stopped rubbing his fingers together. He’d meant to speak to her about some ground rules for their evening. He didn’t want to be too familiar or come on too strongly. He wanted to ask about holding her hand, or wrapping an arm around her shoulders, but the possibility of a kiss at midnight had escaped his notice. 

Perhaps not escaped. Buried under the other things he had worried over instead, such as flowers, his suit, not running late… He cleared his throat, concerned over his face betraying his bewilderment. A kiss. His mind blanked, before he said, “I wanted to ask you about our… date. How we should…” he trailed off.

“Proceed?” She filled in the missing word, looking not at him, but rather at the vase and window beyond.

“Ah,” he started again, “I would never wish to make you uncomfortable, or overstep.”

“You couldn’t,” she said, voice very soft in the quiet of the room. “It’s supposed to be a date and so one would rather expect some manner of… physicality.” Her lips pressed together momentarily, before parting. “I’m certain we’ll muddle through and figure it out as we go.”

“Quite,” he answered, still too shy to bring up midnight. He met her gaze before they both looked quickly away. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he looked at his watch. 

Shelagh took a cue from him and glanced at the clock on a nearby shelf. “Oh! If we leave now, we should just be punctual.”

“I generally run late,” he joked.

“Not any longer,” she answered smartly, lips twitching.

Laughing, he stood and held out his arm. Standing next to him, she threaded her arm through his before glancing up at him. She was so beautiful, and closer than she had ever been to him. His heart skipped once again. “Shall we?” he managed, gesturing toward the door.

“Yes,” Shelagh said. “We shall.”


	4. Shelagh Needs a Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at the dinner dance...

Several holiday gatherings were taking place in the hotel. Fairy lights and glitter seemed to be on every available surface. Hotel guests and party goers mingled in the seating areas and around the bar, laughter and the din of conversation competing with the sense of expectation in the air. Shelagh was not one to spend evenings and late nights at parties. At school there had always been studies in the way, and now that she was a full-time nurse-midwife, she was often too exhausted to contemplate going out and mingling. She preferred to spend her time in cozier and more familiar settings. Her closest friends were few, but dear. And yet, there had always been, in the back of her mind, a desire to break free of her self-imposed shell. To wear a daring dress, dance until the small hours, laugh and enjoy herself in a way that she had never quite been able to achieve. 

Standing here now, sorting through table place cards with Patrick, a frisson of excitement was warring with the nerves in her belly. The evening had already been like something out of a dream. She had taken her time in readying for the date. Her makeup was completely correct and the dress…. At the last moment she had decided against the lace inset. The feeling of air against the sliver of skin on her chest excited her, as did the look on Patrick’s face each time he looked at her. His face was so open and honest. Even in his work he left little to the imagination, his soft, caring eyes and steady smile a balm to their patients. Yet in his eyes now she thought she saw a hint of attraction and the thought made her even more nervous than leaving the flat without the lace. 

He’d brought pink roses. That, alone, was enough to make her breath catch, but the sight of him framed in her doorway had set her into a tailspin of anxiety and desire. 

“Here we are,” he said, holding up their seat assignment. He looked around. “The last time I was in this hotel was for a conference. I almost feel as if I should be leafing through a table of abstracts.”

“Oh, I believe we’re a wee bit overdressed for a symposium,” she teased, the butterflies in her stomach easing slightly at his laugh. 

“Talk for yourself!” He grinned before sobering. “Shall we find our table, or would you like to explore a bit, find the infamous cash bar?”

“You also promised warm cheese,” she reminded, lips twitching as she attempted to squash a smile. 

“I’ll try not to disappoint.” His eyes glittered with humor and the butterflies that had disappeared returned, and multiplied. She followed as he gestured down the corridor and toward the ballroom. Familiar faces were starting to stand out against the crowds of merrymakers, and Shelagh’s nervousness made her mouth begin to dry. It was one thing to jest with and find Patrick attractive when they were alone, but now came the big reveal. Their story and her dress would undoubtedly draw attention. As she began to fret, thoughts of stunned coworkers and embarrassing talk racing through her mind, her hand acted of its own accord, reaching out to clasp Patrick’s. 

The action surprised her almost as much as it did him. He looked down at her, and then at their hands, before offering a reassuring smile and a light squeeze of her palm. It felt nice to hold his hand, to feel united in the face of the party to come. 

“Ready?” His thumb rubbed against the back of her hand as they reached the door to the hall.

The slide of his thumb against her skin was intimate in a way that made her feel flush. She was surprised at the steadiness in her voice as she answered. “Of course.”

\--

  
  


The hall was more than half-empty, most guests still mingling in the corridor or arriving. The dance floor was quietly laid out in the front of the room, lights and a sound system at the ready. Not quite ready to imagine dancing, Shelagh looked instead at the decor as she and Patrick moved through the room. Each table seated eight, heavy cloth and flower centerpieces with tall candles evoking a formal meal. Though they were the first at their seats, Shelagh did not release Patrick’s hand. There was no indication yet of their table partners, and worries were beginning to mount in her mind. Taking the unexpected moment, she leaned daringly close. 

“What shall we say if  _ questions _ are raised?” Her breath caught as she realized how near he was, the warm scent of his cologne enticing. 

His own breath seemed to catch, and she knew he must be as nervous as she. “Questions about the hows and whys of our…. ‘relationship’?” 

She nodded. “I was thinking that we should keep it very close to the truth—”

He seemed to catch on. “It was all very recent and adventitious?” 

His smile was charming. Only one cheek hitched. Shelagh hesitated in her reply, caught in the tableau. “Quite,” she murmured, back stiffening as voices entered the hall. The revelers joined another table. Shelagh recognized them from laboratory services and relaxed slightly. A notification sounded from her phone, tucked into her small evening bag. She gave Patrick an apologetic look, and regretfully released his hand. 

“Go on, then,” he said, nodding toward her bag. “I promised Timothy I’d ring before New Year.” He held out his own phone, pantomiming a call. 

Patrick stepped away. Taking a shaky breath, she looked at her phone. The notification was a text from Gloria. Gloria had spent the days leading up to New Year’s Eve sending teasing messages and speculating on the events of the evening.  _ Warm cheese and boring speeches didn’t lead you to accept the date _ , she wrote, but Shelagh didn’t rise to the bait, smartly replying that it was good for her career to be seen at work-related events.  _ Oh, you’ll be seen,  _ Gloria replied, with several emojis that made Shelagh blush. Thankful that Patrick had wandered several steps away, she opened her texts to read Gloria’s new message.

_ Old doc still breathing? Call me a nosy-parker, if you must. Send selfie. My New Year kiss might well be filled with baby sick, after all. _

Shelagh tilted her phone, looking around to see if anyone could see her message. Patrick was laughing into his call, and the scattered guests seemed more interested in their own pursuits.

_ Your New Year’s kiss will be lovely, even if the little one happens to dribble. Dr. Turner is a gentleman. I’m completely certain his heart rate and breath are both steady.  _

She sent the text before following it up with another. 

_ Oh, Gloria. A selfie? _

She didn’t have time to fret over the idea of a photo. Patrick stepped to the table, rolling his eyes in what seemed to be exasperated amusement. “Timothy wishes you a Happy New Year,” he said, placing his hand onto the back of one of the chairs. “He also read to me a list of resolutions I might undertake in the New Year.” He shook his head, but a smile threatened. “None very flattering, I’m afraid.”

“He’s a dear boy,” Shelagh said, imagining the sly comments Timothy must have made. “Mischievous.” 

“He doesn’t lack confidence.” Patrick laughed. “He’ll be home next week. The flat is rather too quiet without him.”

Shelagh hummed in sympathy. Her phone gave another alert, but she silenced it, smiling apologetically. “A friend of mine. Gloria. I’m afraid I don’t go out very often and she’s quite insistent on a photo.”

“I’ll take one for you.” Patrick looked down at his phone. “Er, unless you’d rather I use your phone? Or are you perhaps thinking of a  selfie?” 

He said ‘selfie’ as if it were a word he didn’t say very often. Shelagh giggled. “Well,” she paused, gathering her courage. “Perhaps we could take one together?”

“Oh, right,” he seemed discombobulated. He looked around. “Here?”

Feeling once more that surreal perception of being in a dream, Shelagh pointed toward a vase of flowers. “Maybe just there?” She placed her phone onto the camera app and handed it to him. “You’ve a longer reach,” she said, pressing her lips together at how silly she sounded.

He laughed but took the phone, standing near the vase. “You’ll have to lean in,” he said, looking at their images on the screen. “Uh, perhaps if we…” he offered his arm.

“Yes,” she said, threading her arm through his. They had spoken about the physicality of the date, but speaking of it and actually touching him were two different things. Being close to him was intoxicating, the feel of his arm under hers bidding her once more to think about dancing with him. Her cheeks flushed. 

“Shall we say ‘warm cheese’?” 

Patrick pressed the shutter just as she laughed. She was trying to see how the photo had turned out when from behind she heard, “Shelagh?  _ Dr. Turner _ ?”

Shelagh had to remind herself to not jump away from the doctor, nor to disengage from their joined arms. “Valerie, Lucille, greetings,” she said, not missing the way Lucille tapped Valerie’s hand as if to reprimand her exclamation of Patrick’s name. 

“It’s wonderful to see you both,” Lucille said, placing her bag down at their table. “We might take a photo or two ourselves, won’t we, Valerie?”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” Val answered, seeming to regain her charm. “How do you find this?” She gestured toward the glitter and finery in the hall. “A bit posh for me, but I’m used to a dark ward.”

They all laughed, but Valerie’s surprise hung in the air. They were saved by Trixie, who sailed into the room with a bright grin and even brighter dress. “Hello, Sweeties,” she said, tugging her date forward. “Christopher Dockerill,” she said, and began to introduce them to him. 

Trixie’s eyes bounced from Shelagh’s hand in the crook of Patrick’s arm without missing a beat in her introductions. Even still, Shelagh’s stomach clenched.  The evening was only beginning. Steadying herself, she smiled and greeted Christopher and Trixie. The din in the room began to rise as more guests entered. The six of them stood awkwardly for a moment before taking their seats, two left open to Christopher’s right. 

“Wonder who those two’ll be,” Val said, smiling mischievously. “I wouldn’t think Mr. Kenley or any of his ilk would sit with the likes of us, but…” she rolled her eyes, full of good humor.

Shelagh looked at Patrick, who gave a small laugh. “Not Kenley,” he said, leaning forward to project his voice across the table. “He asked me to cover for him tonight.”

The table laughed, save Christopher, who smiled politely. 

“They’ll be running on bare bones,” Lucille said, looking around the room. “It seems most are here!” 

Val laughed. “In line for the bar!” She indicated the cash bar, with its already growing line of customers. “I pity the dance floor later.”

“At least they opted for a machine set-up this year and not a band,” Trixie said, lips twitching. “Not to be unkind but the entertainment last year was—”

“Best not to call it ‘entertainment’,” Val cut in. “We left before midnight,” she said, looking at Lucille, who nodded. 

“Believe me, it was for the better.”

They all laughed again, and Shelagh began to warm to the make-up of their table. Trixie was always gracious and kind. Val‘s friendly attitude and steady hand made her a standout on the ward. Shelagh had often felt that she and Lucille were very similar, devoted and hard-working. Yet Shelagh had always held herself away from her fellow nurses. All of their interactions, while friendly, were vaguely formal, and she felt that gap now, as she and Patrick seemed to be the odd ones out. She could practically feel the curiosity over she and Patrick and the nature of their attending the event together, but her colleagues would never pry, nor try to pull the information from them. 

Christopher laughed with the group, before flashing his wide and toothy grin. “Ah,” he said, as if he must begin with an apology, “I’m afraid I’m the odd man out here. I didn’t attend last year, though my hopes for next year remain intact.” 

Trixie giggled, placing a hand on his arm. “You’ve barely made it to the call to dinner,” she said, twinkling merrily. “One might wish to wait and see what the evening brings!”

“Glad tidings. Of that, I have no doubt.” He nodded toward Val and Lucille. “It’s lovely to see you both again. We’ll all have to double to the cinema come New Year.” He then turned his attention to Shelagh. “And Trixie has mentioned you before, though we’ve never had the pleasure to meet.”

Shelagh blushed slightly, feeling the attention of the table once more focused on her. Christopher had a personality as large as Trixie’s, but not tempered or as smooth. She felt somewhat adrift in what to speak with him about. “I didn’t attend last year either,” she said, adapting a formality she was used to doling out when she felt uncomfortable. “But it is likewise lovely to meet you, Mr. Dockerill.” 

“Christopher, please,” he replied, before turning his attention to Patrick. “I believe I attended a workshop with you once, when there was talk of combining early paediatric and dental visits into one practice.”

Patrick’s eyes brightened in recognition. “At the Hendy Street Clinic, yes, I remember. Do you specialize in paediatric dentistry?”

“Restorative,” he answered, once more flashing his pearly whites. “I quickly learned paediatric dentistry wasn’t the speciality for me.”

“All that kicking off,” Val said, wrinkling her nose in a smile. “I find I like handing babies right off to their mums—gummy smiles and all.”

The table was loosening up. The knot in Shelagh’s stomach had eased. The curiosity was not unexpected, and was not malicious. It seemed that giving a little information might relax the table further and lead to a more enjoyable evening. And yet, Shelagh was stumped. She could not just blurt out the status - imaginary though it may be - of their relationship, but didn’t know how to bring it organically out into the open.

Unknowingly, Patrick lent a hand. “No gummy smiles tonight. Shelagh and I were talking earlier about delivering babies on New Year’s Eve. Neither of us have delivered one right at midnight.”

“And we won’t be doing so this year, either!” Shelagh flushed as she shared a conspiratorial look with him.

Trixie didn’t miss her opportunity. “The pair of you are dark horses, aren’t you? Just a week ago you said you weren’t coming to the Dinner Dance, Shelagh!” Her smile was friendly, but still openly curious. 

“Yes! You even offered to cover a shift, though Nurse Crane beat you to it,” Lucille rejoined, seemingly unable now to hide her own interest. 

Blushing, Shelagh glanced at Patrick before looking back to her fellow nurses. “Oh, it’s all been very recent,” she said, echoing her earlier conversation with Patrick.

He broke in. “A bit unexpected,” he said, placing a hand over hers on the table. “And lovely.”

His words and the press of his palm brought a sting of tears to Shelagh’s eyes, but she was saved by a group from A&E calling out to Val and Lucille. 

“Congratulations.” Valerie stood from the table, waving at their friends. “We’ll be back in a mo.” 

Lucille’s smile was sweet as she offered her own felicitations before joining her girlfriend. Trixie fluttered from her chair to hug Shelagh, whispering to her that she and Christopher were going to go and mingle, as if sensing that Shelagh needed time to decompress.

“Well,” Patrick said, when they found themselves once more alone. “I seem to know how to clear a table.”

Unable to stop a giggle, Shelagh laughed, releasing the tension that had grown inside of her. “They were ready to meet with friends,” she said, attempting to placate, but Patrick only joined her in laughter. 

Wiping at his eye, he indicated the cash bar. “Would you like a drink?”

Armed with her drink preference, he left the table. Breathing a sigh of relief, Shelagh indulged in the silence of sitting alone in a sea of people. Her phone beeped with another notification and she looked at it, amused to see that Gloria had moved on from being playful to expressing concern. Remembering Gloria’s request for a selfie, she opened her photo app. 

They looked good together. She was laughing and his smile was wide. Their closeness looked completely natural. Right. 

She erased a few lines before finding the appropriate wording.

_ We certainly chose the correct dress. Lovely start to the evening. Forgive the delay. All is well. _

She sent the photo, hastily placing her phone back onto the table as Patrick arrived with their drinks. 

He settled into his seat, just as a familiar voice cut into the comfortable silence. 

“Turner! Old man!” Young Dr. Mokachi laughed, his arm around the waist of an attractive brunette. “Out past your bedtime?”

Patrick tensed. Underneath the table, Shelagh reached for his hand and squeezed. 

Their table was complete.

  
  



	5. Patrick Needs a Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner, dancing, drinks.... and one annoying junior doctor.

In the course of his career, Patrick had been fortunate to work with many competent and generous physicians. Men and women steeped in character and conscious, driven by a shared goal of healing and the promotion of health. From his very early days at medical school, he’d endeavored to surround himself with those interested in the arts of lifelong learning, scholarship, and patient care. He held a deep admiration for many of his colleagues, past and present. The current roster on their floor was unique and nimble, physicians, surgeons, junior doctors, nurses, and auxiliary staff working together to provide a safe, innovative, and welcoming environment. 

Even still, in the mix, personalities could clash. Medicine was no longer the ‘boys club’ it had once been, but in some situations there was still a tension, a need to prove oneself by flaunting an ego. There were typical squirmishes among coworkers, the usual issues with retention rates, and the stress that comes with working in a high pressure environment. 

And then there were people who felt they were funny.

Shelagh’s hand squeezed Patrick’s under the table. Her touch calmed him as much as it excited him, and he found he had no time for Mokachi’s wisecrack. “Dr. Mokachi,” he offered in greeting, holding out his free hand. 

The junior doctor gave an easy smile, accepting the handshake before introducing his date. Her name was Anne, and though she offered greetings, she quickly turned in her seat to look out over the room. “It’s not what I was expecting,” she said, voice faint through the surrounding conversation. 

Patrick glanced at Shelagh to find that she was already looking at him. She raised her brows as if questioning Mokachi’s taste, and he bit back a laugh. The young doctor’s arrival would offset the table, Patrick knew. He was still immature, finding his way in the world a little slower than most. An intelligent lad, he nonetheless spent a great deal of time with unwarranted jokes and tales of self-import. 

Yet with Shelagh’s hand still in his, Patrick realized that his own ego had risen in response to Mokachi’s quips. For that, he felt that perhaps he should thank him. But a less kinder part of him wished that Mokachi were at any other table. He felt off-balance again, awkward and older than everyone else. And that was the rub. He was too old for such antics. For the rest of the evening he would endeavor to not listen to the younger doctor, and continue to be thankful that he was not Mokachi’s supervisor. 

The call for dinner was made from the stage, their evening host allowing a few moments for the room to be seated before making remarks. Their seatmates returned, Trixie smiling kindly to their new table partners before introducing Dockerill. The comments from the brass were short and soon servers made their way through the hall. The clink of silverware and quieter conversation began to fill the room. 

Over text, Patrick had ascertained Shelagh’s meal order, placing it when he had applied for their tickets. The fare was somewhat better than warm cheese and Patrick could admit that not attending for over a decade had given time for the event to grow and change. 

“Is anyone on tomorrow?” Val held up her glass, a mischievous smile at her lips. At the negative replies, she nodded toward their glasses. “Come on, then. A toast!”

“To the New Year?” Lucille held up her own glass, grinning sidelong at Val. 

“Hmm, the New Year,” Val agreed, “and new beginnings,” she continued, grinning at Shelagh, who flushed, and Patrick who held his drink up high. “And a break from work for at least one more day!”

Glasses clinked as they all laughed and smiled, but after their sips, Mokachi looked across the table. “New beginnings? Retirement, doc?”

Valerie’s brow drew. “Cheek, young Mokachi,” she muttered, as the junior doctor’s laugh petered out. 

“Don’t mean harm by it,” he defended, “just joking!” He deflected attention from himself by commenting on the meal. 

The rest seemed willing to move on from the wisecrack, and Patrick was glad, though he remained somewhat rigid as conversation began to flow again. If Mokachi kept up this pace, Patrick knew he would need another drink before dessert. But remembering his earlier thoughts, he attempted to loosen up, joining into conversation with Shelagh, Valerie, and Lucille over possible renovations to their prenatal ward. 

“The two of you worked with the planners, didn’t you?” Valerie placed her glass onto the table as it was cleared before pudding. “Sparks flew over the choice of paint and trim?” 

Patrick remembered the afternoon that he and Shelagh had shadowed the construction crew, adding input to their plans for the wing. Though it had been only weeks before, he could not then have imagined sitting with her tonight. “Not quite,” he laughed, feeling daring as he once more placed his hand over Shelagh’s. “Our opinions were very similar, however.”

“They were, weren’t they?” Shelagh turned her head to grin at him. 

He could only gape at her, at the sparkle in her eyes over something as mundane as hospital blueprints. She was lovely and intelligent and he was completely hooked. He stuttered in his reply, aware of Lucille’s quiet giggles as he took a sip of his drink. Those giggles he didn’t mind being on the other end of, as he knew Lucille was only expressing happiness for Shelagh. Guilt gnawed at his stomach. When they had agreed to this date he had not thought of all of the ramifications. After half an evening in her company, he was more in love than ever, and Shelagh’s friends seemed so very happy… he took another sip, and tried not to overhear Val’s comment that the New Year’s Eve Dinner Dance was quite a first outing as a couple. 

Across the table, Trixie caught the conversation. “I really never would have thought to see the two of you here tonight. And together! But it really is exceedingly plain to see, isn’t it?”

Valerie touched her nose in a ‘you guessed it’ gesture. “Achingly obvious!” Her smile grew devilish. “Though not as obvious as the dreamy gaze Lucille used to lob at me!”

“Oh!” Lucille scoffed, colliding into Val with her shoulder before laughing. “You’d best stop talking if you’d like me to continue those gazes!”

Everyone laughed except for Mokachi, who seemed surprised. “The pair of you?” He looked at Shelagh. “But I thought you were a midwife and not qualified for geriatrics nursing?” 

The table was silent. At the front, the emcee called for the dance-floor to open. Anne turned to Mokachi. “I need another drink, Jas,” she said, clearly unable to feel the tension her date had caused.

Downing his drink, Patrick levelled his gaze at the younger man. “You’ve had your fun. Find a new audience.”

Backpedaling, Mokachi tried to claim once more that he was joking and that none of them knew how to laugh at themselves. 

Shelagh cut him off, by standing, and holding out her hand to Patrick. “Dance with me?”

The deejay was still warming up, but strains of music were starting to stand out among the opening bid. Patrick accepted her hand. “Gladly.”

\--

Patrick was not a dancer. Patrick was especially not a dancer to upbeat songs or to songs with synchronous choreography. If he had spent any time at all in thinking about dancing with Shelagh at the New Year’s Dinner Dance, he had only thought of slow dancing - of holding her close, moving gently in time to a soft swell of music. And yet, he had been to the Dinner Dance before, and to other similar events. He knew how deejays worked. They had to break through the natural barriers people erected, playing syncopated music until old doctors and those with a natural bent toward fun would take to the floor and dance.

Shelagh giggled as they reached the edge of the dancefloor. Brave souls had already joined the fray, and he raised his hand to hide a smile as several of his senior colleagues boogied by. “I’ll be in good company,” he teased, nodding toward a cytologist they both knew. The older woman seemed to be amalgamating several dance moves from the 1960s with more current trends. 

“Listen to the song,” Shelagh said, before catching the lyric. “ _You can dance… you can jive_ …” Her eyes gleamed behind her attractive lenses. 

Patrick rolled his eyes, but laughed. “I remember when _Dancing Queen_ was first on the wireless,” he complained, but allowed her to lead him onto the floor. 

Shelagh scoffed. “When you were in your cot, I’m certain.”

They laughed together, skirting around other dancers. Space was filling up as more of their colleagues joined the floor. The song was loud, and lights flashed as they began to move. “I might have forgotten to mention my lack of coordination,” he called out over the song.

Shelagh’s face dimpled. “You continue to sell the date short! The speeches were succinct. I’ve not seen one cheese tray! As for your coordination, well…” 

“It can only improve?”

“Oh, Patrick!” 

After the scene at the table, Patrick was glad to be out on the floor with the prettiest woman in the room. She seemed to know how to dance. Yet her natural restraint, and perhaps her kindness in keeping a lower profile for him, allowed him to also find a rhythm. As the song ended he found he was sad to see it go, especially since the next one was one he had never heard.

This song was a little faster, and he tried his best to keep up, but he and Shelagh both dissolved into laughter at his attempts. By song’s end, he was warm and pulled at the lapel of his jacket. Shelagh waved him on as he gestured that he was taking it back to their table. The seats were empty as he shrugged out of his coat, taking a moment to roll up his shirtsleeves. A smile seemed etched upon his face as he glanced around the room. Most of the midwives were dancing and other colleagues sat around the now dimly lit tables, talking and laughing. He caught sight of Mokachi and his date, across the room at a table of fellow junior doctors. Anne looked bored while Mokachi prattled. Glad they had moved on, he looked back to the dance floor to find Shelagh in the crowd.

Their eyes caught, and she smiled. His heart thudded as he finished the final twist of his sleeve. The date had not been as awkward as he had originally feared. He was having more fun than he’d had in years. Tomorrow things would revert between him and Nurse Mannion, but for tonight, she was Shelagh and she was waiting to dance with him.

As he made his way through the crowd he kept an eye on her location, stuttering only slightly when several doctors and staff members they knew surrounded her, talking and gesturing wildly. Feeling conspicuous, he stepped to her side in time to hear a young woman exclaim over Shelagh’s dress. “It’s very bold,” the woman said, eyes widening as she noticed Patrick. “Have fun,” she said, melting back into the crowd. 

“Was it something I said?” 

Shelagh didn’t answer for a moment, eyes blinking as she looked up at him. She seemed to shake herself before saying, “They’re only surprised to see me here. I don’t think she expected to find that I brought a date, too.”

“We’ll be the talk of the ward,” he said, raising his brows.

“They’ll move on.” Shelagh’s lips pressed together briefly. “After some time has passed.”

“Quite,” he agreed, once more realizing how finite the evening before them actually was. “If you’d rather—”

“Shall we—”

A smile broke across Shelagh’s face. “We can’t stop speculation. But we can dance,” she said, ducking her head slightly.

He grinned. “Then let’s dance.”

—

The next few songs were fun, a few hits he remembered from earlier years and a new one or two that were just right for dancing on a packed floor. Never one for clubs or all night dancing, Patrick found that it suited him in this place and time, due only to his stunning partner. The woman who had been speaking with her described her dress as bold, and Patrick could see now that Shelagh herself could be bold. Of course she could, he had to admit, realizing that not many women would agree to such a ludicrous idea as his of a fake date. Yet she seemed to be having fun, laughing and smiling more freely than he had ever witnessed from her.

“Watch out,” Val teased, as she and Lucille met up with them in the crowd. “The pair of you are looking ready for Strictly,” she laughed. 

“Valerie is more keen on the Blackpool Dance Festival,” Lucille tutted, laughing as Val spun her around and pretended to dip her. 

“I’m not quite managing to keep up,” Patrick admitted, brushing the fringe off his forehead. “Shelagh makes us look better!”

Shelagh’s cheeks pinked and they all laughed, as Val and Lucille danced away. Opening her mouth to speak, Shelagh was cut off by the deejay's announcement that now that the dance floor was full, it was time to slow things down and throw things back to New Year’s Eve’s of the past.

With that, the music changed, gentle and quiet as Nat King Cole began to sing about falling in love. There was an audible shuffle as couples began to pair off, moving in close to one another. “Oh,” Patrick stuttered, as the lights above turned into an intimate glow. “Do you—” he offered his hand.

He already knew that her hand was small, but fit well in his. She accepted his invitation and her fingers slid into the space between his forefinger and thumb. Even after walking hand in hand earlier, it felt daring to be palm to palm. More thrilling was placing his hand at her back, bringing her in toward his body. Her breath seemed to catch as he touched her, and he swallowed thickly, living the dream of having such an amazing woman in his arms.

Even in heels, her head barely cleared his shoulder. The warm scent of her hair teased at him. He kept the touch at her back light, concentrating on moving gently, swaying in time to the rhythm of the song. He wanted to remember every moment, the gentle croon of the song, the scent of her, her warmth. Their first tentative movements began to ease as they found their stride, the song’s line about moonlit kisses lending a dreamy sense to the reality around them. It seemed as if they were in their own bubble, the crowd reduced to a blur. 

As the song neared its end, his heart began to pound. “Shelagh,” he said, catching her eye as she looked up. 

“Yes,” she answered, her voice husky with breathlessness. 

Her eyes were so very blue, her dress lovely, and her hand seemed to belong in his. “I—”

The song ended. 

“Oh,” Shelagh said, pulling away as another upbeat song started. “I… Shall we take a break?” Her eyes were wide. “I’m going to pop over—” she gestured toward the Ladies.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Patrick said, leaving the floor as she bustled away. Blowing out a breath, he rubbed at his eye before looking toward the line at the bar. Sensation and memory washed over him. Shelagh in that dress. Shelagh in his arms. His hand at her back and her breath on his neck.

Pulling at his collar, he tried to calm his racing thoughts and pounding heart. 

He needed a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Teacups and Weds!!!! 💞💞💙💙


	6. Shelagh Needs a Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their slow dance, Shelagh needs a moment to think...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note— I’ve tried my very best to use Britishisms responsibly. 🤣 However, I’m afraid that I have a mish-mash of 1960s and googled Brit slang in the fic. As to the song mentioned in the later bit of the fic, I found it listed twice on the list of NYE 2020’s London’s fireworks display, so I figured it was safe to use... (it was fun to write, anyway!).

The water slowly warmed over Shelagh’s hands. Methodically taking her time, she scrubbed each finger and up to her wrists. The soap lathered well, its sweet scent lovely in the Ladies lounge. The mirror before her was well lit, but she didn’t look into it, knowing what she would see if she did. Her cheeks were still flush and warm to the touch. The cool water did little to help calm her, but the disciplined way in which she washed her hands did begin to soothe her, such a normal activity within the surreality of the evening.

Her skin still tingled from his touch. His hand was large, but gentle, enfolding hers so completely. Heart in her throat, she exhaled a shuddering breath, remembering the scent of him and the tantalizing shape of his jaw so close to her line of sight as they danced. Patrick was an attractive man. Tall with dark hair and a nice smile, he had always been physically attractive in abstract to her, her mind caught up in his intellect and knowledge. She had never dared to let her eyes rest too long upon him, but now she knew the deep color of his eyes, the shape of his neck, the curve of his mouth.

Pressing her lips together, she closed the tap. She spent time thoroughly drying her hands before entering the seating area and perching on the edge of a gilded chair. Taking out her phone, she opened her texts. 

_ All is ‘well’? How  _ well _? If this picture is any indication, my prediction was correct. How's your date? (You’re both of you looking quite smart...) _

Shelagh remembered Gloria’s certainty that the date wouldn’t remain ‘fake’ for very long. The lounge door opened and several women entered, washing hands and laughing together. Idly listening to them, Shelagh typed and erased several responses. As the women left, she closed the text, looking instead at the photo. He  _ was _ fit, his hair flopping over his forehead in a careless and messy way that set her senses alight. The picture was taken before he had removed his coat, but in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves he had been so attractive to her eyes that her mind had stuttered momentarily. She had never quite felt this way, so physically and intellectually attracted. 

It had been his idea for the date to be a false one. She had easily agreed, worn down from her shift and tired of doing so little with her personal life. Her fellow midwives would gently tease, but even that became tiring. Work was her life and the only man she had taken time to notice had been Dr. Turner. Patrick.

He waited for her now, and she began to fret, worrying that she had been in the Ladies for too long. Part of her thought to call Gloria, but that wouldn’t do, not with colleagues and other guests popping in and out of the loo. She settled, instead, for sending a brief update, omitting the fact that she was currently ensconced in the ladies lounge.

Those moments on the dance floor, so perfect and intimate, overwhelmed her. If the date wasn’t meant to be anything more than one night, what was she to do with the feelings he engendered when he held her so close?

Erasing the message again, she typed

_ It’s all feeling too real, just now. Gloria, how did you know? _

She sent it before she could lose her nerve. The loo was quiet for the moment. Thankful for the pause, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, startling when the phone buzzed.

_ It never seemed to me a simple favor for a friend. You had to want to attend with him.  _

_ If it feels real — well, maybe it is?  _

_ Give a bell if you need. x _

Maybe it  _ is _ real. Gloria always seemed to cut through the anxiety and concern to find the truth Shelagh needed to hear. Yet still, Shelagh stayed in the chair, unable to move. The lounge door opened again. 

“Shelagh?” Trixie peeked into the sitting area.

“Trixie,” Shelagh answered, standing and walking toward the sinks. “I was—” she gestured with her phone. “Sending a text to a friend.”

Trixie washed her hands, and smiled at Shelagh in the mirror. “Sometimes it’s nice to take a small breather.” Placing her handbag onto the counter, she snapped it open. Taking out a compact, she began to powder her nose.

“Quite.” Shelagh looked at herself in the mirror. The lighting was impeccable. Her dress was completely correct. Her eyes were bright, studded with the light. 

“I’m glad you’re here tonight, sweetie,” Trixie said after a beat. “This event is rather large and nascent relationships can be so fragile. I’m happy you came.” She contoured the powder around her chin. 

“It is somewhat overwhelming,” Shelagh admitted. “Everything is still so…. new.” It was uncharacteristic of her to share a confidence, but it somewhat delighted her, too. She was in the presence of another friend, and she found that she liked it.

Trixie’s smile was kind. “Dr. Turner is completely taken with you. Every look from him is positively love-struck.” She pushed up her shoulders in a giggle. “I believe he’s smitten!”

Pleased, but reserved, she said, “We’ll see.” But in the mirror a smile tugged at her lips. 

Trixie’s grin was bright as she closed her bag. “Christopher and I are due at another party just after midnight. You’ll have to fill me in on all the details Monday morning!”

“I will,” she promised, watching as Trixie fluffed her hair. “You look lovely. I hope the next party is enjoyable!”

Trixie pursed her lips. “Dental chaps,” she said, before brightening. “Though I’m hopeful we won’t have to stay  _ too _ long…”. With a giggle, she held the door open. 

Wishing Trixie a good evening, Shelagh stopped to survey the room. The dancing was still in full swing, lights and glitter on display as the old year slipped away. It didn’t take her long to find Patrick, standing at the bar, a drink in his hand. His collar was loosened, fringe slightly messy over his forehead. He looked up from his glass.

There was a spark when their eyes met. Exhilarated and terrified, Shelagh exhaled a shaky breath, stepping forward to once more take his hand.

—

Electricity and a fervor of anticipation was in the air as time wound toward midnight. As inhibitions loosened party hats and noisemakers became a regular sight. Shelagh declined a tiara, but smiled when Patrick took a party horn. 

“I’ll save it for Tim,” he said, eyes twinkling. 

Shelagh shook her head, barely hiding a smile. Since rejoining the dance floor they had moved in a bit closer when speaking, had found small, incidental reasons to touch one another. Her hand at his shoulder, his arm around her waist. She felt daring and giddy, hypersensitive to his nearness. The music slowed once more and she took his hand, shivering pleasantly as his arm rested near the small of her back. She recognized the golden voice as that of Ella Fitzgerald, her song inquiring as to what one was doing on New Year’s Eve. It hardly seemed possible to Shelagh that her New Year was being spent slow dancing with the doctor. 

The song was dreamy and sweet. Her eyes met Patrick’s once more. His lips curved as he gently swayed them to the melody. Butterflies tingled in her stomach. Warmth radiated from his body, inviting her to rest her head against him. Feeling quite bold, she nestled in, pressing her cheek against the fabric at his shoulder. The hand at her back twitched slightly before pulling her even closer.  Lost in the feel of being surrounded by him and his warm scent, Shelagh closed her eyes, savoring the moment. She squeezed the hand that held hers and smiled at his answering press. As the music began to fade, Patrick paused in a darkened corner of the floor. She opened her eyes to look up at him.

His face was soft, yet resolute, as if he had found something in her gaze. Turning his head slightly, he lifted their joined hands, and brushed his lips against the back of hers. 

Shelagh’s breath caught and released in a fluttering sigh. With a pleased smile, he unlocked them from their dancing position, keeping an arm around her waist. “Shall we sit? Have a drink?’

Her hand tingled from his kiss. In truth, she would follow him anywhere. “Only water,” she managed, sinking into her seat as he pulled it back from the table for her. She watched him walk away, unable to keep from trailing her fingers over the spot he had kissed. 

“If you don’t mind me saying, the pair of you are putting the rest of us to shame.” 

Shelagh snatched her hands apart, laughing nervously as Val collapsed into her seat, Lucille sitting across her lap.

“I’m certain that’s not the case,” Shelagh said, trying to control the heat in her cheeks.

“I get it, no kissing and telling!” Valerie grinned,  adjusting her New Year’s hat.

“ You’re wishing  your moves  were as smooth,” Lucille laughed, poking a tickling finger into Val’s side.  She turned sly eyes on Shelagh . “It seems that you and Dr. Turner are having fun.”

Ducking her head, Shelagh didn’t bother to hide her smile. “Quite.” It was slightly uncomfortable sharing this side of herself, even with friends, but somewhat exhilarating, too. “I wasn’t sure what to expect,” she continued, sharing another half-truth. “But it’s been lovely.”

“Into the fire,” Valerie remarked. “Best way to get it out there. One shot and now everyone knows and can get on with their business.” 

“I agree.” Lucille’s smile was gentle. “Val and I had to do the same. If you give no quarter, people will often keep their opinions where they belong.”

“Stuffed right up their—”

“Valerie Dyer!”  Lucille hopped from Valerie’s lap. Her face was scandalized, even through her laughter. 

Patrick returned to the table with two glasses of water and a packet of biscuits. “Did I miss the punchline?”

Standing, Valerie grinned. “Just girl talk.” She took Lucille’s hand. “Come on, I’ve got to fix my lippy before midnight.”

Lucille gave a dramatic and false long-suffering sigh in response to Val’s wink, waving as they left. Patrick settled into his seat, offering the packet of pink wafers. “It appears that the desserts went faster than anticipated and the hotel is now improvising.” 

Shelagh giggled. “The employee entertainment budget didn’t account for inflation, perhaps.”

“Next year will be only crisps in the car park.”

“Oh, and bring your own bottle!”

Their laughter was interrupted by an apologetic voice. “Ted!” Patrick smiled, holding out his hand. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight! Gilly,” he continued, smiling at the woman next to Ted. “It’s been—when did I last attend one of these?” He turned to Shelagh. “I’m sorry, have you met Ted and Gillian Horringer?” At the shake of her head, he introduced her.

“Lovely to meet you,” Gilly said, shaking Shelagh’s hand. “We were just on our way out to the terrace. We should be able to view the fireworks before nipping home. We’re not generally out so late these days!”

“Retirement seems to suit us,” Ted said, chuckling. “We can come to these ‘dos without all the fuss.” His smile was knowing as he looked at Patrick. “Don’t usually see  _ you _ at these things…”

Gilly rolled her eyes heavenward. “Don’t listen to him. You seemed rather cozy before we interrupted and I’m sure you’ll be once more when we leave! Patrick, bring Shelagh round for dinner one evening — lovely to see you both!” 

They were gone in a whirlwind. “Friends of yours?” Shelagh glanced at him from the corner of her eye, tamping down a giggle. 

“So it seems,” he teased, looking in the direction they had gone. “Would you like to go out to the terrace, too?”

Shelagh took a sip of her water. “I quite enjoyed dancing,” she murmured, replacing the glass.

“Ten minutes until the New Year,” the deejay called. “And now, one for the footy fans…”. The song  _ World in Motion _ began to play.

“Well, how could we say no to that?” Patrick laughed. “It’s a matter of national pride.”

“Who can say no to New Wave and the national football team, indeed.” Shelagh giggled again, feeling light and happy as they retook the floor. 

The crowd had thinned as people left for the terrace and balconies to watch London’s fireworks show. But those left on the dance floor were into the song, some even pantomiming football moves. Shelagh and Patrick fell together,  leaning into one another , laughing. The communal spirit and lateness of the hour gave way to their natural reserve, and they shouted some of the lyrics with the crowd near the end, “We’re singing for England!” 

As the song ended, the deejay announced the time, and their last song before midnight. Bing Crosby’s quiet voice was in contrast to the high energy of the previous song, but as he crooned about starting the New Year right, Shelagh began to realize just how close they were to midnight. Patrick’s hand was once more low on her back, firm as he guided them through the dance. His now roughened jaw was inches from her eyes, and his lips…

As the last hour had counted down, it seemed that an implicit agreement had formed between the two of them. The date was no longer fake.

And it was almost twelve.

Stomach clenching, she startled as the crowd began to cheer, noise makers and confetti already freely used, even in the seconds that remained before the countdown.

“This is it,” the deejay boomed, playing the sound of a clock ticking. “Grab your partner because in 10...9...8...7-”

The noise was deafening, but Shelagh could see her name form on Patrick’s lips. She nodded, pushing up on her toes as his hand helped to tilt her body upward.

“6...5…”

The New Year was nigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, Teacups and Wednesday!!! 💕💙 The last chapter will be posted tomorrow, completing the story. But sometime Friday or this weekend (or early next week....) chapter 8, the smutty bonus will be posted. If you don’t want to read the bonus, the fic will end neatly with tomorrow’s chapter. Thanks to all of you for peeking in!! Happy New Year Eve Eve!!🥰


	7. Destiny Demands a Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of the story proper. A midnight kiss and its aftermath...

Portions of the evening had been nothing less than surreal. Pretending at a date, awkward encounters, and dodging his own feelings diverged with a feeling of complete correctness. In the moments that he and Shelagh were alone, the pretend relationship felt thoroughly real. They had always been able to engage with one another as colleagues. Their interests aligned. The only surreality came in the form of romantic attraction, something Patrick had always endeavored to suppress when it came to Nurse Mannion.

And yet, at some point in the evening — was it when he had daringly kissed her hand? Or earlier, when he had almost revealed too much on the dance floor? — real feelings had taken hold, such that the fake date ceased and now they found themselves in the midst of something genuine.

And that didn’t feel surreal at all.

As the countdown to midnight started, all nervousness fled. The surrounding din gave them a measure of anonymity. Though he knew she could not hear him over the noisemakers and shouts, he still said her name, seeking her assurance. At her nod, joy flooded through his body, and he pulled her close, hardly daring to believe that they were about to kiss.

5...4…

They did not participate in counting down, lost instead in looking at the other. Her eyes were bright, mouth slightly parted…

3...2...1

From all around came shouts of glee in the new year as confetti fell softly onto their hair. The noise went unnoticed, as did the sparkling bits of paper.

Her lips were soft. He felt it even as their mouths glanced together just barely in heated exchange. A puff of sweet breath against his chin spurred him forward again. Mouths barely parted, her lower lip fit perfectly between his. The warm brush of sensitive skin sent a tingle through his body. Cupping her face in his palm, he threaded his fingers into the flare of hair at her ear, desperately pulling her closer, delighting in the sheer joy of kissing her. 

Her arms looped around his neck, one hand trailing light fingers over his nape. She slanted her head, moving with him as the kiss continued, as the noise and chaos around them faded into nothingness. The hint of her taste toyed with him and he rubbed his thumb against the shell of her ear, caught up in the moment, in her.

When she pulled back, her eyes were sparkling, her lips darkened from their kisses. She smiled, but as she opened her mouth to speak, a sing-song broke out around them, people crossing arms and holding hands for Auld Lang Syne. He couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face. Catching the humor of the moment, she ducked her head in a giggle, reaching out to brush confetti from his shoulders. Feeling light and mischievous, he took her hand, leading her from the dance floor and out of the hall. 

Her quiet laughter encouraged him as he continued to lead them through a busy corridor. The conference he had once attended in the hotel had been overly long and tedious. He had sought out private spaces to separate himself from his colleagues. One particular terrace entrance was rather hidden, and though probably host now to fellow revelers, he walked in that direction. 

The door was where he remembered, a cozy sitting area hidden in an alcove. The exit opened as they approached, several guests returning inside. Cold air brushed past, receding as the door closed. Turning to Shelagh, he was immediately chastened by the sight of her bare arms. “Ah, I was going to suggest stepping out for the fireworks show, but… well, it’s rather cold.” He had forgotten his own jacket too, and kicked himself, realizing he could have offered it to her. 

Shelagh dimpled in a smile. “We’ve a perfect view from here,” she said, pointing to the large glass windows behind the settee. 

She was right. Bright trails of light were just visible near the London Eye. “Would you like to—” 

Tugging him forward, she sat, canting her body in the seat so that she could face him and still look out of the window. Her arm was across the seat top, and he reached out, taking her hand in his as the outdoor show continued. He turned to look at her as she watched. Her hair was tucked neatly behind her ear, but his fingers remembered touching the soft strands. Her mouth was turned in a smile and he swallowed thickly, remembering that all too brief kiss just moments before. 

“Shelagh.” The alcove was quiet enough to hear the rustle of her dress as she shifted. 

Her eyes met his and clung. The evening had passed in longing looks, the barest of touches, and a kiss in the midst of a crowd. But now they were shielded from coworkers and masses. He pressed his forehead against hers, removing his arm from the settee to wrap around her shoulders. She shivered as his fingers touched her neck, tiny bumps rising in his wake. Her breath was ragged on exhale. 

“Patrick,” she said, placing her hand at his shoulder.

He kissed her slowly, finding her pliant in the moment, as she opened her mouth to him. The hint of her taste had intrigued him upon their midnight kiss, but now he found himself ravenous, unable to keep from sweeping his tongue into her mouth, softly meeting hers. A sound of pleasure rose from her throat, and she went from yielding to agilely taking control, shifting closer as she took her turn in tasting him. Heat grew between them as they continued to kiss, but the sound of approaching voices and party horns pulled them apart. Patrick took a deep breath before kissing her hand once more. 

Her gaze was adoring as he lowered her hand, keeping their fingers entwined. He couldn’t help but grin, exhilarated and alive in a way that made him feel nearly invincible. And completely certain that he was in love. The joy must have been plain in his countenance, because a smile threaded across Shelagh’s face. It widened until she, too, grinned, squeezing and gently playing with his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about?” Her voice was soft, playful.

“You,” he said, cheeks reddening at her knowing look. “Earlier, when we danced—I almost said what I thought would be too much. But now I’m not certain I can say enough…”

“Patrick?”

“I remember the first time I noticed you—really noticed you,” he clarified, raising his brows.

“Oh?” Her tone was flirty. “Go on.”

The sound of her voice had always been pleasing, but now it made his heart race in anticipation. “It had been a particularly rotten day. We called you in — half of the floor was out with flu. Do you remember?”

“I do,” she answered, forehead creasing in thought. 

“You swept in, taking charge, setting things to rights. We were immediately put at ease, the patients, the other staff, me. At the end of my shift, I went into the kitchen, and you were there. Cheek against the wall, sound asleep.” He paused. “This is where I don’t wish to say too much, but I believe that was the moment I fell in love.”

“Oh, Patrick.” Shelagh exhaled, before smiling, eyes shining. Leaning in, she softly kissed him. “It’s not too much. I know you so little, but I couldn’t be more certain in you. In us.”

They grinned helplessly at one another until Shelagh’s expression became mischievous. “It’s only a good job I wasn’t drooling when you found me asleep, Patrick!” She laughed. “Was I really dozing against the wall?”

He laughed. “Pressed right against it, quietly snoring….”

“Oh!” She giggled, pretending hurt as she pressed her lips together. The teasing act didn’t last as her mouth twitched before she laughed again. Sobering, she met his eyes. “You’re such a fine doctor. That first drew my attention. And then I read your papers and … it’s silly but I felt I could look into your heart and mind through them.” 

“I’m very glad I left them on my door for you to find.” 

“That’s the two of us, then.”

“We’ve rather abandoned the party,” Patrick noted, looking at his watch. “I think doors close by one.”

“Just a few more moments,” Shelagh said, nuzzling into his arm. “We’ve not spoken our resolutions for New Year.”

“I suppose I’ve already fulfilled mine, not even an hour in,” Patrick said, looking side-long at her. “No longer bottling my feelings. Speaking when I should speak.” He paused. “And kissing a beautiful woman at midnight…”

Shelagh scoffed but couldn’t keep a pleased smile from her face. “As for mine, I’ve thought to be bold. Emboldened in my own decisions, in creating the life I want to lead.” Standing, she tugged him up with her. “As such…” she paused, lips pressing lightly together momententarily as she looked up at him. “I’d like to invite you back to my flat.”

His answer was immediate. “That would be lovely.”

Smiling naughtily as they left the alcove, it was only a small stop in the hall to collect his jacket. Many guests had already left, but he could see Valerie and Lucile slowly drifting together on the dance floor. Shelagh’s phone buzzed as he shrugged into his jacket. 

“It’s probably Gloria,” she said, looking at the message. Her cheeks bloomed bright pink. 

“Anything I should know?” He teased, watching as she tapped in a reply.

“I told her I would talk to her in the morning.” Shelagh’s cheeks were still red. “And she liked our selfie.” She turned her phone to show him the picture. 

“We looked quite nice last year!” 

With a giggle, Shelagh put the phone into her bag. “Oh, Patrick. We did!”

The moment they had taken the photo seemed now so long ago in a night of such monumental firsts. Glancing around the hall, he found it bittersweet in leaving. But as he took Shelagh’s hand and stepped with her into the cold January night, the New Year and their future, he found that he was indeed starting the new year right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... the bonus will be up as soon as I write it. hahaha! The title is: Patrick and Shelagh Need It Now....
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading!! ❤️ Thank you, as always always, to the amazing Teacups and Wednesday. 💕💙 Happy New Year!! 🥰


	8. Shelagh and Patrick Need It Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the reason for the M rating. Shelagh invited Patrick back to hers. What shall they do now? (May or may not involve sifting through medical supply boxes....)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit late for New Year's Day but boy was this fun to write. Thank you so much to Teacups for helping me to keep the momentum going and for finding all those repetitive words!!! And her ideas on the ending were perfect!! I've had such fun squeeing over this series with you!!! And thank you to Wednesday for looking this over and picking out one of my favorite lines to highlight!! I had such fun writing this little holiday fic. Thanks for reading!!!

The night air was chilly, but Shelagh had never felt warmer. The haze of the evening still surrounded her, the laughter, the dancing, the kisses… her cheeks warmed even now, holding Patrick’s hand as they stepped carefully through the icy streets toward her flat. Their date and Patrick’s confession had been like something out of a dream. She felt light and happy, the smile on her face seemingly permanent. Surreptitiously glancing at him, her heart began to pound. He was in love. With her. Patrick Turner was in love with her and had held her so gently and kissed her so thoroughly so as to make her giddy and love struck, and bold.

She had invited him back to hers. A part of her was proud of the invitation, that she had taken advantage of the moment and spoken her own desires. The rest of her was anxious, but in a delicious way, thinking of what they might say, do, when the door of her flat closed behind them. The butterflies in her stomach returned. Her skin was already sensitive, the remembered feel of his hands tingling at her neck, her jaw. Reflexively squeezing his gloved hand, she looked up to meet his gaze, her lips pursed in impish delight. When he grinned at her, tall and handsome in his overcoat and patterned scarf, she thought how sexy it was to have a secret with him, knowing where they were headed and what they would do when they arrived.

It hardly seemed possible that only hours before they had been so unsure around one another. Leading him into her flat now she felt certain, completely certain, in her invitation. Yet still, she was anxious and almost incredulous at the turn of the evening. Closing the door firmly behind them, she fiddled with the strap of her handbag, aware of his nearness and the silence in the room. “I’ll take your coat,” she said, hiding a wince at how formal she sounded. 

He looked as nervous as she felt, but as he handed the woolen fabric to her, his hand brushed lightly, accidentally, against hers. The heat that had been between them earlier in the evening returned in a rush. “Patrick,” she murmured, enjoying the sound of his name on her own lips. 

He didn’t withdraw his hand. They both watched as he drew a single finger over her wrist, the light touch inducing her to shiver. 

“I’m nervous, too.” 

His voice was raspy in a way that made her stomach clench in anticipation. Swallowing with some difficulty, she carefully placed their coats and her bag into the cupboard. “Shall I put on the kettle?” Her voice was breathless as she dared to glance up at him, cheeks hot from his gentle touch.

“Yes,” he answered, but his gaze did not part from hers. 

As the moment lengthened, Shelagh softly exhaled, need and desire erasing all thoughts of tea and a more traditional greeting. There had been dalliances in her past, romances that never quite coalesced into steady or long-term relationships. Unsure of herself, she had never been able to give the trust needed to gain complete intimacy with former partners. But now, there was no guessing. Even if he had not said the words, had not told her that he was in love with her, she could not miss it in his eyes, his actions. And the pull toward him was stronger than anything she had ever known. 

He was a gentleman, and nervous besides. His hands hung loose at his sides, his suit jacket unbuttoned, hair windblown across his forehead. Stepping forward, she touched his lapel. A hint of cold evening air still clung to them, warming as she moved into his space. “All right?” 

His nod was nearly imperceptible, a harsh exhale of his own heightening her passions as she gently kissed his jaw. A quiet sound of pleasure escaped him, and she was unable to stop herself from kissing him fully. Cupping his face in her hand, she gently teased him, opening to him as his arm wrapped around her waist to pull her body upward. Pushing up onto her tiptoes, she gave herself over to the sensations, his warm lips, the pleasing taste of him, the touch of his body against hers. 

Patrick’s unoccupied hand moved to her neck, his fingers gently weaving through the strands as he tilted her head, changing the slant of his mouth. Responding to the change, Shelagh sucked at his lower lip, pride and lust arrowing through her as he groaned and pushed even closer. The momentum of his movement had Shelagh placing her feet back onto the floor and stepping lightly until the wall was firm against her back. 

Pulling away with a panting breath, Patrick’s fingers twitched before touching her lips with reverent softness. “More?” His eyes were darkly attractive. Overwhelmed, she nodded, gasping when he pressed forward to kiss her, one hand resting on the wall and the other tracing her jaw. Surrounded by him, she kissed him as their fervor increased, tracing her fingers over his waistcoat to disappear behind his suit jacket, touching his back with the tips of her fingers.

His lips broke from her mouth to touch her cheek, her ear. The breath against her lobe made her shiver. She ran her palm up his back, clutching her fingers into the soft satin at his shoulder blades. Her head fell back against the wall as he kissed her neck and collarbone. Removing her hands from his jacket, she pushed at it, trying to remove it from his broad shoulders. Pulling back, he quickly removed the jacket, letting it fall onto a chair. He lifted her hand, gently raising it toward his mouth. The touch of his lips against her palm made her heart pound. She touched his hair with her free hand, massaging her fingers through the thickness of it, using her touch to encourage his face back to hers. His cheek was rough against hers as he nuzzled against her sensitive skin.

“Oh, Patrick,” she murmured, stealing a soft kiss. Taking his hand, she led him to the settee. He settled into the crook, back to the arm. She sat lightly on the edge, turning toward him. Their height difference made her dizzy with want. Against the wall, she had been so completely surrounded by him, and now, even sitting, she felt small and deliciously overwhelmed by him, meeting his demanding mouth with pleasure as he initiated a kiss. His shirtsleeves were still rolled from earlier in the evening. She touched his forearm, struggling to get closer. The heat between them made it hard to think, but in a daring movement, she sat across his lap.

He made a sound of delirious satisfaction, immediately kissing her again. Taking her turn to explore him, she touched her lips to his chin, to the sensitive skin of his neck above his collar. His shirt was rumpled, tie slightly loosened. His breath was shallow as she fiddled with it, slowly working the knot free and removing it. Given her freedom, she delicately kissed the hollow of his neck. His hands gripped her waist, making her squirm. She returned to his mouth, desperate for his taste. The damp heat between her legs began to sting pleasurably. It increased as she shifted, rocking against his hard length as it grew between them. 

“Shelagh, Shelagh, Shelagh,” Patrick babbled, panting once more as he pulled back from their kisses. He swallowed thickly, and Shelagh watched as his throat worked. “I don’t know…” he trailed off. “My love, I didn’t come prepared for… for more than a snog.”

Caught up in his use of an endearment, it took Shelagh a moment to realize the implication. “Oh…” she said, “oh!” Disappointment ran through her body, the throbbing between her legs at odds with this new information. The chemists were closed for New Year, though perhaps…. 

Shelagh turned toward her dining table.

“Shelagh?” He looked toward the table, too. 

A beat passed before they burst into laughter, Shelagh awkwardly leaving his lap to make her way to the neatly stacked boxes of their mobile clinic. “There’s a check-list inside each box,” she said, removing the lid from the one closest to her. 

“Quite,” he said, opening another box, rooting through it for the list. “But Shelagh…” he trailed off, taking her hand over the boxes.

“What is it?” She was annoyed at the delay, ready to open another box to find the correct list.

“Is this an appropriate use of hospital supplies?”

If it hadn’t been for a slight twitch at his lip, she might have thought he was serious. As it was, she had been entertaining similar thoughts, and giggled. “Condoms are counted by packet, not as individual pieces,” she said, unable to keep the prim tone out of her voice.

“We’re in luck, then!” He held up the prize, breaking into laughter with her once more. 

“Oh,” she grinned, closing the box. Her cheeks were hot. “My fellow nurses asked for details on Monday morning. Perhaps I’ll leave quite a bit to the imagination…”

The grin fell from Patrick’s face, replaced with a look of intent. “Yes,” he said, stepping close to once more touch her lips. “Some things are meant to be kept...private.”

Taking his hand, she kissed his fingers before leading him into her bedroom. She released him to turn on the lamp and close the curtain against the snow and darkness outside. Folding her glasses, she set them aside and stepped from her shoes. Patrick’s footfall behind her made her shiver. She faced him, nervous excitement making her heart race. “I didn’t know we would be together like this tonight,” she said, placing her palms against his chest. “I had what I thought were silly daydreams as I dressed, but--” she trailed off.

“I had no expectations of anything quite this lovely,” he said, cupping her upper arms with both hands. His gaze trailed over her face. “But I couldn’t quite keep my eyes off…. Shelagh. This dress…”

Her cheeks flushed red in pleasure. “I hoped you would like it,” she confided. “It makes me feel quite… bold.”

“I’ve tried to keep from gaping at you all evening,” he admitted. His fingers twitched against her skin.

Removing her hands from his chest, she allowed him full view of the dress and its daring neckline. A small, desperate sort of groan escaped his lips, and the pounding sting returned between her legs.

“May I?” His hand stopped just short of the lace at her chest.

“Please,” she whispered, shuddering into a gasp as he traced the line of fabric that plunged just below her breast bone.

“Gorgeous,” he said, dipping his head to once more kiss her collarbone and her upper chest. 

She murmured his name, threading her fingers through his hair to guide his head. When his lips touched the inner curve of her breast she moaned, accepting his hungry kiss as he reared up to take her mouth. 

Plucking at the buttons on his waistcoat, she removed one from its hole, trying to complete her task even as their kisses became urgent. She tore away as the last stud was undone, helping him to remove the coat. He quickly unbuttoned his oxford. Shelagh’s hands immediately busied themselves with removing the shirt, touching his strong shoulders, and placing a kiss to the skin just above his heart. She tugged at his vest and he pulled it over his head, making his hair even messier in the process. Her teeth touched her lower lip as she contemplated him, following the dark hair on his chest to the waistband of his trousers. Feeling shy of reaching for the fastener, she turned instead, offering the zip to her dress.

“Shelagh,” Patrick’s voice was raspy in the dim room. She trembled as he found the catch, and began to lower the zipper. His hands were warm against the skin of her back, and she knew the moment he realized she wore little underneath, as he released a mild oath. 

Stepping from the dress wearing only her knickers, Shelagh carefully placed it on a chair before turning. 

Patrick’s eyes were completely darkened, breath quick and ragged. “You’re lovely,” he managed, reaching for her hand. “So lovely…”

Tugging him forward, she sat on the bed in invitation. He squeezed her fingers before releasing her hand, and she moved toward the far side of the mattress to recline against a pillow. He removed his shoes and trousers, sliding onto the bed next to her. Meeting him in the middle, she gripped his upper arm as he crooked it under hers, pulling her in for another kiss. Undulating against him, she gasped at the feel of his chest against the sensitive tips of her breasts. His lips and hands were everywhere, against her throat, at her wrist, index finger and thumb pinching one nipple as he mouth enclosed the other.

She had thought they might take their time with one another, but the heat was blistering, the throb between her legs painfully pleasurable now as her inner muscles contracted, seeking friction and his hard length. “Please, please,” she murmured, as he pressed his erection against her, rubbing the head of it against the center of her throbbing need. She cried out, the pleasure almost more than she could bear, even with fabric still separating them. Tearing at his pants, she touched him, enclosing her hand around his hot shaft. 

His groan was sensual and imploring, pressing himself further into her hand. The tip of him was wet. Spreading the wetness against him, she dipped her fingers gently under the head, playing with him until he moaned. 

He grabbed her arms, turning her until he pressed fully against her. “All right?” 

The soft voice after the swift, strong turn, made a flash of wet heat escape from her. “Touch me,” she begged, spreading her legs to him.

His lips trailed over her body, teeth softly biting at a peaked nipple before he kissed her hip bone and began to remove her knickers. 

Shelagh’s breath caught as he traced over her damp curls and nudged his fingers into her. One finger found her swollen clit and massaged until she stuttered into a sobbing moan. Slapping her hand against her night table, she found the condom and gave it to Patrick. She thought that if they hadn’t been so far gone he might have chuckled, but there was only a driving need for pleasure between them now. 

The first press of him inside of her was slightly uncomfortable until he shifted, sliding in easily. His hot breath against her neck and the feel of him deep inside had her trembling, hitching her legs higher on his back until each forward motion of his hips had him rubbing over her sensitive nub. She had never experienced physical pleasure in such an open and willing manner. The force of the orgasm surprised her, causing her to cry out and clutch Patrick’s back as he hit his own peak. Waves and spasms of pleasure made her limp and she collapsed into the pillow, sweaty, sated, satisfied. 

Their harsh breaths were loud as each came down from their high, Patrick turning to lie against the other pillow, even as he clutched her hand to his chest. After a moment, she rolled into his side, snuggling against him, softly kissing his chest, his neck, and jaw. “I love you,” she whispered, completely certain in the truth of the statement. “I love you.”

“Shelagh,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, laughing in joy. “Oh, Shelagh!” He kissed her. “I love you.”

As their bodies cooled and their breath regulated, Shelagh dozed against Patrick, drawing nonsense patterns against his chest with her fingers. He left the bed for a moment to dispose of the condom, settling back in with another chuckle. “What is it?” She rolled onto his chest and couldn’t help but grin down at him, so gorgeous with satisfaction underneath of her.

“Oh,” he laughed. “I was just reminded of saying that some things should remain private, but then I thought of your Gloria, and how you said you’d text her in the morning.”

Gloria would gloat and say that she knew there was more than a fake date and friendship between them. And Shelagh would have to admit that she was right, especially now that they were lying naked in one another’s arms. “She’ll be insufferable,” Shelagh teased.

“I think everyone we know will be smug,” he said, but squeezed her. “As to Gloria, however, I was only thinking, well…” he paused, but couldn’t keep a smile from his face. “I was thinking you might say to her the date wasn’t fake and neither was the…” he moved suggestively against her.

Shelagh’s mouth dropped open. “Patrick Turner!” She giggled, unable to correct him. It had been anything but fake and she hoped to experience it again and again.

Laughing together, she pulled a blanket up over them, cuddling with him as the early morning turned into New Year’s Day. His arm grew heavy against her as he slipped into sleep. Her heart thumped happily. The incredulity she felt earlier was gone, as well as the surreality that had followed her for the evening. All there was now was she and Patrick. And though it seemed they both had been denying or somewhat unaware of their feelings for what seemed to be years, she was grateful that the New Year had provided a path to lead them to the right road. A road they would travel together. Smiling, she nuzzled against his arm, daydreaming about the morning to come--the first day of the New Year and of their relationship. The days ahead would be filled with joy and love, and Shelagh found that she couldn’t wait to step into them, Patrick at her side.


End file.
